Jojo’s P.O.V.
The toaster dinged, the scent of burnt bread assaulted my nose, and my brain, which had been running on autopilot since I had woken up thirty minutes ago, short-circuited.
"Ugh, Jojo, focus!" I scolded myself as I scraped the charred edges of my toast with the sheer determination of someone who had already lost this battle. But, honestly, how could I focus when my mind was stuck on repeat, replaying last night over and over again like a glitchy DVD?
The kiss.
Raven.
The absolute nerve of him to just—ugh!—tilt my chin up like I was in some romance novel, looking at me with those ridiculously intense dark and dreamy eyes of him, and then just... kiss me. My stomach did a weird somersault, and I nearly dropped the butter knife into the sink.
OK, deep breaths, Jojo. It was
